When I was in University, my father wasn't doing too well financially. I remember every year when it was time to pay fees, I would be extremely worried about having to drop out of University if he couldn't cough up the money. For the first two years, he always somehow found a way to pay the bill. I know now that on some occasions, it involved borrowing from loansharks or rolling credit on his 17 visas and mastercards...
In the third year, he sold his car - one of my favourites, I must add - a 1970 Ford Escort 1.6 Ghia. He said he was going to use the money to pay my fees. But he took the cash and went to the casino up in Genting Highlands. The plan was to double the money so he could pay my fees and have some cash leftover. As all stories of this nature go, he lost every last cent. I hated him for it. I despised him. I ended up applying for (groveling) at the registrars offices for a student loan to cover the final two years. I had to find a faculty member (a lecturer!) to be a joint guarantor with someone else. I eventually found two people kind enough to help.
If I knew then, what I know now, about what it takes to raise a family, I might not have been so quick to despise him. I might not have been so quick to hate him. I might have swallowed my pride a little easier when I had to go and find the money myself. I wish I could thank him now, for all the pain and humiliation he might have had to suffer when he made the decisions he made.
I understand now.
Labels: Memories, Musings